Nothing Gold Can Stay
by Ramzes
Summary: Myrcella Baratheon is a captive to the Iron Throne and the Dragon Queen, her beauty ruined, her memories tarnished. But maybe, just maybe there is something she hadn't felt in a long while... Hope?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I disclaim._

**Nothing Gold Can Stay**

Everything had changed.

Through her fifteen-year-old eyes, Myrcella Baratheon could see it all too clearly and she was both angry and envious at the little girl she had been, the one who had thought life was only good. But then, how could she have been different? She had led a very sheltered life, pampered by her mother and adored by her father. By everyone in the Red Keep, it now seemed to her.

Now, everyone seemed to avoid her.

It was only to be expected, after all. The end of the Lannister rule had been dreadful and bloody – literally so. Sometimes, Myrcella still couldn't believe that she had made it this far alive. That Tommen was alive, too, albeit held in strict custody. But that didn't make everything easy. She was accustomed to people liking to be in her company and now almost everyone ignored her, the minority still willing to talk to her consisting of her uncle Tyrion and her… Jaime – whom she didn't like to talk to – and, as strange as it was, the new, still uncrowned Queen. Yes, somehow, between Tyrion's attachment to his niece and the whispers of great and not so great Houses that the Lannister bastards should be eliminated, Daenerys Targaryen had managed to form an opinion of Myrcella that stopped her from executing the girl. Sometimes, very rarely and at the most unexpected moments, Myrcella saw glimpses of what Daenerys might really be like – a painfully young woman, vulnerable and insecure, the fate of the world resting upon her shoulders.

"Why so sad, my lady?" someone spoke in her ear – or what was left of it under the veil – and she turned to them, stunned.

"I… I am not sad, my lord," she stammered and he smiled.

"Really? Then you won't mind smiling at me?"

Her heart raced. She hadn't seen Trystane Martell in years and she had purposefully kept her distance ever since his arrival at King's Landing a week ago. She didn't think he'd like to be reminded that he had once been betrothed to Cersei Lannister's bastard daughter and in truth, she didn't want to suffer his empty politeness or worse, pity. Yet now he had sought her out and she didn't know how to react. They had been quite close as children but these days, nothing could stay as it had once been. Trystane had become a stunningly attractive man, lean and broad-shouldered, with the black hair and eyes of his people… but the way he spoke… he was still the boy she had played cyvasse with… yet not quite…

"Myrcella?" Trystane reminded her. "A smile?"

She looked up and noticed how far her eyes needed to travel to reach his face. He was a full head taller than her – a merciless reminder how much time had passed. How much the world had changed.

He was still looking at her expectantly and she smiled. "That's better," the young Dornish prince said. "One more, please? And a little broader one this time?"

Myrcella almost laughed at his outrageous flirting, then looked around to see whether someone had seen them but as usual, no one looked at the alcove she usually occupied to keep herself away from the rest of the court. They were safe. And then, it was suddenly as if she were in Sunspear again, looking at the young lords and knights flirting with Arianne and the other ladies. Trystane probably didn't even realize that such behavior was not proper but she did. And just for a moment, she wanted not to care. She grinned at him with the unrestrained joy that he was still willing to talk to her, to acknowledge that they had history, that she was more than an unpleasant reminder of an old regime of injustice.

He was looking at her, fascinated. "I recognized you immediately," he murmured.

The magic was broken. Myrcella looked away. _Of course he recognized me,_ she thought miserably. _With this hideous scar, how could he not?_

"Your eyes," he said softly. "I remember… when we first met, I thought how I had never seen anyone who had green eyes before. Like emeralds."

"And I remember you waving at me from the quay," she murmured. She had felt such a relief back then, she'd been so sure that they could get along that she had withstood the glares and murmurs of the Dornishmen while she rode through Sunspear without feeling too hurt.

As the musicians started playing, Trystane regarded her solemnly. "How have you been, Myrcella?" he asked.

_As well as can be expected of one whose uncle killed their mother and they are practically prisoners in what was once their family's palace,_ she wanted to reply. "I am fine, my lord."

For a moment, there was something in his eyes, a brief flicker of hurt and disappointment that made her hold her breath. A moment later, his expression became serene once again and she thought she might have imagined it. Trystane made a step toward her. "I am sorry, my lady," he spoke in a low, urgent voice, totally unlike his previous flirtatious tone. "I should have never let them take you from Dorne. You should have never endured this."

There was such sincerity in his face and voice, such remorse that Myrcella was taken aback. She had thought that he had forsaken her and now, joy bloomed in her like the dawn colouring the yellow sands of Dorne and turning them, for a few minutes, into a garden of rosy and violet. Then, she shook her head. _Mother save me,_ she thought_. I can't be falling in love with him, can I?_ Love never brought happiness to anyone. Not her father. Not her mother and her… Ser Jaime. Not Robb Stark and his ill-fated queen. She had thought that she might grow to love the man Trystane would become. Now, when the boy who was no longer a boy stood in front of her, she felt scared. She was a prisoner of the Targaryens. She had no future. She could only attract suspicions to herself and the Martells. And the last thing she needed was to be reminded of a place where the sun was quick to rise and slow to set, where she could wiggle her toes into the sand and play a new game with a boy who, unlike Joff, didn't mind losing, as long as that meant being with her, playing with her. She did not want to remember of days long gone, days that had been better, happier.

Trystane reached for her face and paused when he was about to remove her veil draped over one side of her face, as if he suddenly realized that it might not be proper to do so. Myrcella was glad. She didn't want him to see the scars too clear. "Don't be sad," he murmured. "I didn't want to make you sad."

"I am not," she lied bravely and looked at him, dry-eyed. He examined her.

"Very well," he said at last. "Then smile for me? Not with your lips, with these forest eyes of yours. I think your smile will bring me luck."

_Forest_. She had heard many things about her eyes, many praises about her mother's eyes. _Emerald. Green silk._ Whatever. She had never heard the phrase_ forest eyes_, though. But of course, it made sense. To Trystane, forests were as strange and fascinating as the desert was to her. She remembered him in Sunspear, at the Water Garden, listening to her wide-eyed as she described the mountains and forests she had seen traveling around the Seven Kingdoms with her parents. One of her most cherished memories was her father reaching in the wheelhouse and taking her out, over her mother's loud protests, to place her in the saddle in front of him where she could stare, open-mouthed, at the green magnificence surrounding them. For all his faults, Robert Baratheon had been able to make her hold her breath, make her laugh.

She knew that, in a strange, sad way of his own, he had loved her.

"Here," Trystane said, satisfied. "Now, it's better."

He was smiling at her and her heart fluttered. He was looking at her almost as if… almost as if she was still beautiful. _What a silly girl I am._

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "Thank you," he said, face suddenly serious once again. "You gave me something to sustain my spirit in the battle."

She became serious, too, reminded that now, they had to face the greatest danger. Very soon, the army of the Seven Kingdoms – or what was left of it after the wars – would leave for the Wall. They could all die very soon and then their petty grievances and flirtations would matter no more.

Still, she felt warmed that now, she had someone to pray for.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I disclaim._

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed.**

_Nothing Gold Can Stay_

Chapter 2

_A few months later…_

At the door, Myrcella hesitated. She did not want to be here. She did not want to enter. The man inside might have fathered her but he was not her father. He had killed her mother with his own hands! Or hand, anyway. And he had never been interested in her. All affectionate attention from grown men in her life, she had received from Robert Baratheon and her Uncle Tyrion… and maybe Doran Martell, later. She was not sure. Maybe it had been one of his schemes. Still, she liked to think that he had developed real affection for her, despite his plots.

Anyway, Ser Jaime was still not recovered from his participation in the battle with the Others and there weren't many willing to visit him. Myrcella was never the one to shirk her duty and well, he was a Lannister, so she knocked and entered.

The hope in his eyes turned to a flash of disappointment as he realized who had come to see him. Myrcella almost made a step backwards when she was stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the dark-haired woman opposite to the bed. What was she doing here?

"My lady," Myrcella said and curtsied. Ashara Dayne gave her a level look.

"I'll leave you with your… uncle, Lady Myrcella," she said. "I'll expect you for dinner in the Great Hall, nonetheless."

Myrcella assured her that she'd be there and the lady left in a cloud of perfume. Jaime Lannister snickered. "It's good to know that some things don't change," he said. "She was never shy to make her opinions clear."

"She doesn't need to be shy," Myrcella said. "She's the first lady at King's Landing now, until His Grace weds, and she's the one who rules the court."

"Ah yes," Jaime said. He was still very pale and gaunt, with the same haunted look she had sometimes spotted when he thought no one was watching, ever since they had first met when the Targaryens had reclaimed Westeros. Still, there was a sarcastic smile on his lips. "Well, she all but ruled the court when she first came to live here, too. A smile here, a mesmerizing look there... she always got her way. She was more of a Queen than I ever remember Rhaella Targaryen, so it isn't new to her. I heard she's adopted a new style?"

Myrcella nodded and wondered whether she should sit next to the bed. Finally, she chose not to. "She is to be known as My Lady the King's Mother," she explained. "And it wasn't she who chose it, the King bestowed it upon her."

Jaime snorted. "Of course he did. The thought that she'd willingly subject her hearing to such a long phrase each time sometimes opened their mouth never crossed my mind. When I knew her, she preferred to keep it as short and simple as possible."

The faint sunlight stole its way through the closed shutters and made his golden hair almost white, his aging enhanced by his weakened state. _Nothing is as it was when you knew her,_ Myrcella thought. A dynasty had fallen and been restored. Their family was in shatters. Jaime himself had done the unthinkable. Dragons had come to life. A queen had abandoned her throne after all the fight to win it. They had fought the Others and _won_, and some even lived to tell the tale. "Personally, I find it fitting," she said. "His Grace was right to honour the woman who brought him up."

"Of course he was,' Jaime said. "And he had to do it in the most pompous way possible. But well, that's always been a penchant of the Targaryens'."

"What was she doing here?" Myrcella demanded and by Jaime's expression, she saw that he wouldn't tell her.

"Making it clear how much she despises me," he said airily. Still, there was something in his voice that spoke not of merriness but something different. Myrcella came near.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I am fine,' he said and paused. "I thought it might be Tyrion." Seeing her uncomprehending look, he elaborated, "When you knocked at the door. I thought it might be him coming to see me, finally. We haven't spoken in months."

Myrcella looked down. _He doesn't care that I came_, she thought. _He doesn't need me. No one does._ "He spoke to the Queen on your behalf," she said. "He convinced her to spare you."

Jaime shook his head weakly against the pillow. "It isn't enough," he said and paused again. "They said he was a monster, you know," he spoke again, lost in times long gone and a world that had died long before Myrcella came to be. "My father, Cersei and even the gossiping servants. They said that he had killed my mother, that he was a monster, a freak. But he wasn't. He was so tiny and so hungry for affection that no one was willing to give him. He and Cersei, they were the only ones I've ever loved in my life… where is he, Myrcella? Why wouldn't he come, after all that happened?"

That was the first time she saw him uncertain and vulnerable. It was the weakness, the fatigue, the effects of the great battle... but she was stunned to find out that Jaime Lannister did have a heart, after all. "He will come," she said. "He will, I am sure."

Jaime looked at her in wonder. "What?" she asked. "What is it?"

She was starting to feel somewhat weak herself. Maybe it was the room itself that did it. For the last few months, death had become a frequent visitor in Westeros – an uninvited guest, but a guest nonetheless. She fed, she went about and touched everything… She was their most constant companion. She – and illness.

"How is it that you are so… good?" he said in reply. "How could Cersei and I ever produce a being as kind as you?"

Maybe he meant it to be a compliment but his words only make him feel lonelier. Apart from the world. Even he, her uncle and… not quite… even he could not relate to her. He was looking at her as if her temper was more shocking than her scar.

Her mother had never understood her either – but Cersei had loved her, at least.

Myrcella suddenly rose and stood with her back to him. "Did you really kill her?" she asked without turning around – she could not bear look at his face.

For a long moment, Jaime stayed silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was very even, he might as well be talking about making a dent in his armour. "Yes," he said. "I did,"

_Cersei, her green eyes ablaze, the flames crackling in the fireplace behind her, the dagger in her hand and the blood seeping in the soft carpet. He looked at her in disbelief, his eyes moving from the body lying sprawled in her feet, the hands still tied up behind the back. Tyrion, tied in a corner of the room, his eyes intent, no doubt feeling that he'd be her next victim…_

_Cersei smiled and lowered the dagger. "Come on, let's go to my chamber," she purred and Jaime had trouble even processing the words. But when he did, he felt a cold fury tightening her grip on him, and he looked at Cersei, green ice to green fire. _

"_I am not going anywhere with you," he spat._

_She stepped back, amazed. "Jaime," she said, confused. "Jaime, why are you angry?"_

_That was too much. She really, truly didn't understand. In her mind, she had just eliminated an obstacle in their path, a woman she felt threatened her position in his affections – and she expected that he'd just dismiss that, that once he had lost Brienne, he'd immediately become reconciled with the loss. What kind of twisted logic was that? What kind of twisted woman she was?_

"_Because you killed one of the very few people I've ever cared for, that's why!"_

_Cersei laughed, loudly and angrily. "Well," she said, "I think in a few minutes, I'll have killed two of them."_

_He intercepted her before she could reach Tyrion and squeezed with all his disappointment, all his disillusionment, all his hurt. _

Myrcella's eyes went wide. She had hoped it was only a malicious rumour but it was not. And he offered no explanation. None. She stood up and staggered out, her entire world finally shattered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed.**

_Nothing Gold Can Stay_

Chapter 3

_A few months later…_

At the door, Myrcella stopped for a moment to gather her stormy thoughts. _Stormy._ A bitter smile twisted her lips. She might not have the Baratheon blood but right now, the storm roaring in her veins was no less fierce than the ones that often shook Storm's End. Would her storm ever end? This far, she had gotten below royal notice and she'd much prefer that things stayed this way, so she had been chilled when she had been ordered to come.

"My lady,' the servant reminded her, "the King awaits."

She collected herself and nodded at him to announce her.

"Lady Myrcella of House Baratheon!" the man called out obligingly. Myrcella would never get tired of hearing that, for she had feared for so long that she'd be made Myrcella Waters. Everyone knew the truth but for now, pretense could still be maintained. She raised her chin, went past Ser Barristan who was guarding the door and entered the King's solar.

It was quite different from what she remembered from her father's days. Hunting trophies and bear hides on the floor were now replaced by red and white tapestries and soft Essosi carpets. Comfortable couches had lost ground to high-backed chairs. Only the few swords leaning against the walls were the same. She felt a sudden longing for the huge man who had been carelessly negligent but loving, nonetheless. It was as if Robert Baratheon had never lived here.

She dropped a curtsy to the tall figure at the window, silhouetted by the sunlight. From where she was, the King's hair looked as golden as her own.

"Your Grace," she murmured. _How handsome he is_, she thought. _And how little he excites me._ Today, for once, Aegon Targaryen was not in his House's colours but instead in blue and white which made the purple of his eyes a shade deeper.

"Lady Myrcella," he said and she blinked. Had he called for her just so he could keep her on her knees? To humiliate her further? As if she could be moved! She had lost so much that a little humiliation was hardly likely to impress her.

"Why are you bending like this?" he asked and she felt an urge to do something very improper for the moment. Laugh. Nothing would save her if she laughed now.

"Because," she explained, "you haven't bidden me to rise. Your Grace."

"Ah. Rise, then."

She did and while she was doing that, she noticed the faint blush creeping on his cheeks. The curse of fair-skinned people. Like Myrcella herself, the King could not hide his embarrassment. He had much to learn about courtly manners.

He pointed at a well-padded chair and she barely restrained herself from telling him that such a seat did not befit her current rank, or the lack thereof. She should have been allowed a stool, at most. Of course, when the King was receiving someone in his own chambers, he could do whatever he liked but Myrcella was sure that he was not relaxing the rules. He simply was not acquainted with them sufficiently. She seated herself. _What will he want of me? _

Aegon did not leave her waiting. "I know you spent some time in Dorne."

"I did, Your Grace," she said smoothly. "I was Prince Doran's ward. I lived in Sunspear and the Water Gardens."

"Yes," he said, giving her a long look. "And what will you say if I tell you that Dorne has asked for you?"

The blood rushed to her face; to her relief, the young Targaryen extended the same courtesy to her that she had extended for him, pretending not to notice.

"I'll say," Myrcella replied, "that I am honoured."

"Indeed."

He might have meant nothing by this remark but Myrcella's blood, already risen to her face, roared in her ears. For her, it had an entirely different meaning: her father's death, her mother's infamy, their fall from power, the rumours that her… Ser Jaime had killed her mother, the breaking of her betrothal, the shame she carried with her wherever she went…

The boy-king's eyes went to her face. He suddenly laughed, his teeth white and strong, like an wolf's. She shuddered at the thought of a dragon's jaw.

"You are well versed in the art of a neutral answer, my lady," he said. "This is something I imagine will make your marriage easier."

Her knees went weak. It was a good thing that she was seated. Surely he couldn't be saying? He didn't mean that…?

"I am quite indebted to my uncle of Dorne," he said. "And I thought it would be wise to grand the Martells' wish and give them a bride who is my own ward."

_Sure_, she thought with irony. Quentyn's death had made the relationship with Dorne harder, with Aegon allied with his Aunt. Still, they had supported him and had fought against the Others valiantly. This being the Martells, one should be insane to think it wise to leave them with a grudge.

"Who knows," Aegon went on. "Unless my cousin Arianne finally takes a husband, and soon, one day you might find yourself Princess of Dorne. Trystane seems very keen on the idea of wedding you as soon as possible. I expect your… uncles to provide you with a proper dowery but I'll add to that. You'll leave for Dorne as one of the most acclaimed ladies at court, accompanied by my own mother."

The thought of being in close proximity with the beautiful and fierce Ashara Dayne turned her heart cold. But really, what did she expect of the woman? She would hardly try to kill her. And Myrcella had had worse.

Aegon stared at her hard. "I hope your silence isn't one of discontent," he said. "With things being the way they are, the last thing I need is a bride unwilling to marry where she's told."

She wanted to scream, to tell him that he had no right to speak as if he were king when he was just a boy, and a newcomer to Westeros. Her father had never spoken to people as if they were mere objects for his convenience.

But what could she say? He had the right to do whatever he wished with her. And she wanted to go to Dorne. She wanted to see Trystane's face, to feel the caress of the sun on her face, to hear the laughter and fountains in the Water Gardens. Trystane waited for her. He wanted to wed her still. She looked down again, this time to hide her joy. It would be very unladylike to let it show.

"If this is your wish, Your Grace," she said, "then I am delighted."

He shook his head, unsure of what to make of her, and waved her off. She left as graciously as she could and was safely away down the hall when she let the smile beam.

Ser Jaime was waiting for her in front of her door and she was startled to see him. He was recovering quite nicely but he had never ventured as far as her room. He had never come to visit her anyway. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"What did he want of you?" he asked in reply and Myrcella sighed, smiled, and shook her head at the same time. There was one thing that did not change: rumours still traveled faster than dragons in this castle.

"Come in," she invited him. He was clearly surprised but followed.

Her chamber was spacious and well lit through the huge windows. It was comfortable enough but Myrcella couldn't help but see the set of Jaime's jaw as he noticed the lack of multiple mirrors, boxes, many cushions and chairs, gild and fine carvings he had once seen regularly in his sister's chambers. _It's because of you I lack these_, Myrcella thought._ Because it turned out I am not only no princess but no Baratheon either. And this is better than a spawn of incest deserves here… unless they happen to be Targaryen._

Jaime looked at her, the concern once again visible in his eyes. "What did he want?" he asked. "The dragon boy?"

The joy came anew, bubbling, unabashed. "I am to leave for Dorne," Myrcella said, grinning, and flung herself in a chair. "I am to wed Trystane!"

Jaime looked incredulous. He looked around for a chair and stared at her, for once unable to come up with a witty remark.

"I am so happy!" Myrcella went on. In this moment, it did not matter that he had killed her mother, that he had ruined her life. She wanted to share her happiness with someone and there were so few people in the Red Keep who cared enough. "Maybe I'll reside in the Water Gardens before the wedding, and we could do it in the Tower of Sun. I…"

Jaime was shaking his head. There was something in his green eyes that she didn't understand. It looked like fear. "What is it?" Myrcella asked.

He looked aside, at a vase of fresh flowers. She plucked them every morning herself. "I am scared for you," he said. "You… you are placing too much hope on this marriage. What if…"

"No," she said. "All will be well. I am not too hopeful. I'll wed Trystane and I'll be happy."

"Happiness," he said and laughed briefly. He was suddenly old and defeated once again, as he had been when they'd brought him in after the battle. "Elia Martell loved Ser Arthur Dayne and he loved her back. That did not give them happiness. Like you, they fell in love in the Water Gardens. The place fed their illusions, setting them for a lifetime of disappointment. Life is not Dornish sun and a palace of waterworks, child."

"Don't I know it," Myrcella said and hated him for ruining her day, for killing her happiness. He was deprived of happiness, so everyone else should be too, was that it?

And then, she smiled, her anger lifted by a sudden certainty. She went to Jaime who was still standing, tiptoed and pecked his cheek. "You are wrong," she said, smiling. "Dorne brought me Trystane."

Jaime held her tight. His arms were clumsy, his golden hand pressed hard into her back. He had never hugged her before. As he was releasing her, she heard him muttering, "Love is a treacherous feeling. You'd be better off without it. It was always like that for us Lannisters."

But she did not believe him. He was wrong. He simply was.

At another chamber, decorated far more lavishly than this one, Ashara Dayne stood and tried to warm her hands on the sunlight. But the sun was weak, not like it was in Dorne. It could do nothing to chase off the chill that overtook her at thinking that soon, she'd see her homeland again and find almost no one she had known and loved there.


End file.
